Chapter 1: Transaction, Anime Superpowers

At midnight, the esports room buzzed with the clatter of keyboard strokes, louder than the cicadas chirping outside.

Lu Qingqi, half an ice pop dangling from her mouth, glared at the “Defeat” pop-up on her screen, yanking at her hair in frustration. “F*ck! Screwed over again! What kind of trash teammates are these?”

Her teammate’s wail crackled through the headset. “Qi Bro, I’m logging off. Girlfriend’s nagging. If I don’t hand over my phone, my limited-edition figure’s gonna be in pieces by tomorrow.”

“Fine, fine, whatever.” Lu Qingqi grumbled, pulling off her headset.

Her phone screen lit up just then, a message from her girlfriend adorned with a pink heart emoji. [Qingqi, don’t forget to come with me to Master Chen’s art exhibition tomorrow. Wangjiang Bro will be there too. Oh, and last time Wangjiang Bro said my paintings were pretty good. I’m planning my own exhibition soon—can you ask him if he’s interested?]

Wangjiang Bro…

Liu Wangjiang!

Those three words stabbed into Lu Qingqi’s temple like a needle.

She swung her fist at the air—Liu Wangjiang, that “perfect rival” who’d been one-upping her since high school.

Better grades, cooler on the basketball court, even taller than her.

Worst of all, he always looked at her with that condescending “watching a kid” gaze. At the last class reunion, he had the nerve to say to her girlfriend, right in front of her, “Qingqi’s still so childish.”

“Childish? Wait till I make it big, you smug bastard. I’ll rub your face in the dirt!” Lu Qingqi muttered, furiously opening her browser to vent by scrolling.

Suddenly, a notification caught her eye—not huge, but trending enough to notice.

[Big thanks to all the brothers and sisters in the forum for the support! We’re launching another “Everyone’s Little Wish” survey. One lucky person gets their wish granted!]

Lu Qingqi frowned.

What kind of lame forum was this? Always pushing this pointless stuff. They’d be better off posting hot model pics or celebrity gossip—that’s what people actually want.

Glancing at the forum name, she saw the comments below flooded with “please make me rich.”

Too lazy to read further, she moved to click the close button in the corner.

But just then, a new message popped up, as if deliberately covering the last one.

Her mouse landed right on it—click—and the screen jumped to a pitch-black page.

The graphics were rough, screaming AI-generated.

[Welcome to Zhulong’s Exchange. Here, you can gain any ability, but you must pay a corresponding price.]

Below the pale white text, a purplish-black button glowed eerily in the center of the dark background.

Lu Qingqi’s mouth twitched.

What kind of garbage website was this? An exchange?

Wasn’t this just a rip-off of that random screenshot game that went viral a while back?

“You can gain this, but you’ll lose that”—same old shtick.

She moved to close the page, but the white text suddenly changed.

[Why not give it a try? Isn’t humanity’s anthem all about courage? Or are you just too scared?]

Lu Qingqi snorted out loud.

Whoever made this page was an idiot, right? Using such low-tier taunts—but, well, it kinda worked on her.

She clicked the purplish-black button, expecting a random spinning wheel or a fast-scrolling list of abilities.

Instead, a blank dialogue box appeared, with faint white text floating inside: Enter the ability or idea you desire here.

Lu Qingqi raised an eyebrow. Maybe the programmer behind this wasn’t that incompetent.

Intrigued, her fingers danced across the keyboard, tapping out a rhythm.

“Ability? I want the power to get revenge on that bastard rival of mine.”

“Ideally, something versatile. I get bored using the same ability, so let me switch it up to mess with him in different ways.”

“Not just physical torment—mental destruction too. Like in those spicy novels on certain websites. Turn him into a girl, mock her when she’s at her lowest, lock her in a cage, force her to eat cat food, crush her pride bit by bit, and completely shatter her worldview.”

After hitting send, she braced for some generic AI response, or maybe a loading icon spinning forever before spitting out, “Your request doesn’t align with our values, let’s change the topic.”

But instead, a line of faint white text flashed in the center of the screen.

[All gains come with a loss. That’s the deal. Are you ready to pay the price for this ability?]

It could respond like that? Was there a real person on the other side? No, maybe just advanced AI—those things were getting scarily smart.

She’d heard about AI ghostwriters on platforms like TomatoNet, cranking out stories for pennies, driving authors to grind 996 shifts.

Lu Qingqi thought for a moment, then her keyboard clattered again. “Bring it on. It’s just a price, right? I can handle it. Give me the ability, and I’ll take any cost!”

“I’ve lived this long without being scared of anything or anyone!”

“Interesting.” The response—human or AI—came back with just three cool words.

The next second, the screen lit up with two spinning wheels—one labeled “Gain,” the other “Price,” each with a pointer in the center.

Without overthinking, Lu Qingqi clicked to spin both wheels, then clicked twice more to stop them, each pointer landing on a result.

She leaned closer to read.

“Your gained ability: Choose one anime-style superpower per week.”

“And the price you’ll pay is…”

The “price” was just a blurry mosaic, completely unreadable.

“What the hell?” Lu Qingqi’s brows knitted tight.

Was the idiot who designed this page brain-dead?

A mosaic at the critical moment? It was like watching a steamy scene only for it to cut to freaking Teletubbies. Infuriating.

“Whatever, it’s late. Time to sleep. Gotta get up early for a morning run.”

Calming her annoyance, she plugged in her phone to charge, cranked up the floor heating, and slipped under the covers.

Soon, soft snores filled the room.

In the dead of night, a faint golden-black illusory dragon slipped out from the phone screen, vanishing into the girl’s forehead.

Lu Qingqi stirred, flipping over with a frown, clearly dreaming of something unsettling.